Resurrect and Reconcile
by the iz
Summary: An ideal look at how Mary's return could go if S12 was moving towards canon destiel, which it won't, but that's old news. Told from Mary's POV and yes, there is more to this fic than just her shipping her son with the angel. Rating might go up in future.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! Been seeing the increasingly more revealing footage of S12 and it nudged me into finally publishing this, which I've been working on since the S11 finale aired. I should have published it before now because now it's contradicted by the promo stuff, but this is basically how I'd have liked Mary's return to have gone. I think some aspects of it might be similar but mostly I always knew they weren't going to do it like this. Much as we all want Mary to be a destiel shipper, guys: she will not be. That's too canon for the show to do, and Samantha Smith has made it clear in the past that she dislikes the destiel pairing and fandom. Still, that's why we have fics like this :) Enjoy!**

* * *

"... Mom?"

The handsome man in front of me repeats the word as a hushed question, stepping closer to me, eyes wide and dark and disbelieving in the moonlight. I twitch away from him warily and he halts, inhaling deeply as if to steady himself. My head whirls. I feel unbalanced, stripped and raw, unable to process the abrupt transition from my unchanging family home to this chilly clearing. I have the unsettling sensation that I've woken up from a dream, although in a dim sort of way I know that I was dead and in Heaven and now I'm not.

"Where am I?" I ask, my voice sounding strange and low to my own ears. I blink in shock. I sound older. How can I be older? The man who called me 'Mom' shakes his head helplessly.

"I don't know. I was dropped here same as you."

I look at him, deciding abruptly that if I'm going to get answers I need to start asking questions that this man might have definite responses to.

"Alright. Who are you?"

The man huffs, a sad sort of laughter. "It's me. Mom, it's Dean. I'm Dean."

Dean?

No. Dean is four years old, not a man in his thirties. Dean is all messy golden hair and gap-toothed smiles and freckles on soft skin and excited chatter. Dean is my light, my love, my best friend. Dean is who I've been waiting for in Heaven, tidying rooms and baking pies and planting flowers day after day in my empty family home. I know Dean. Dean is...

Dean is the clear green gaze I look into as the man steps forward and moonlight falls across his face, silvering the freckles on his nose. I give a soft, hurt gasp, stumbling back, reeling in every sense of the word.

"Oh, God, Dean."

Memories flood me, memories of my death before ascending, an awareness I drifted away from in the lulling safety of Heaven. I forgot that there was anything but my existence there: dreaming of my babies as I knew them in life, saving a space for a family that would never come. But how could I forget those long years in that changing yet familiar house, a pale echo of myself, tethered by grief and guilt? How could I forget the way my sons, fully grown men, charged in and set me free? How could I forget the Dean who stands before me now?

Pain twists Dean's face and he swallows, hard. "I know this must be a shock for you-"

"A shock?" I repeat shrilly, my voice too loud in the quiet night. "I almost forgot that there was anything else but that goddamn daydream world and now I'm standing here and it's cold and, and you're telling me you're my son? You're telling me this is real? I-"

I choke on tears that I didn't realise were there and it feels so strange to be crying, to feel anything but the dull, almost drugged contentment that pervaded Heaven. Dean looks close to breaking down himself, those familiar eyes shining, his chest moving rapidly.

"Mom..."

I shake my head vehemently at that painful word and he shuts his eyes, tears squeezing out onto his cheeks. Something in me twists unbearably and before I can think about it I've lurched forward, flinging my arms around his broad shoulders, crying brokenly into his neck. I stroke his short hair with an unsteady hand and babble nonsense, my voice a mess.

"Sshh, baby, it's alright, it's OK, I'm here, Dean, I'm here now..."

He makes a strangled sound and gathers me up in strong arms, almost raising me off of my bare toes, numb in the damp grass. We stand like that for longer than I expect and even after he lets me go, I'm not sure who comforted who. We both step back, swiping awkwardly at our eyes, sniffling and smiling timidly at each other.

"You look like your Daddy," I say softly. Dean snorts, although his eyes turn sad again and my stomach drops as I sense that his father is not a happy subject for Dean. Dreading the answer, I ask the obvious question, although I phrase it gently for my own sake more than anything else.

"Is John around?"

Dean hesitates and then shakes his head, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Mom. He's gone. You didn't... I mean, he wasn't up there with you?"

I swallow hard, shaking my head blankly. John. All this and I still can't make things right with John, no matter how much I want to, have always wanted to. Love for my husband wells up inside me and I want to cry again, but love for my children is stronger. There are more important things to think about than John Winchester, although that statement would have been a foreign concept to me before I was a mother.

"And what about Sam?"

At the mention of his brother, Dean's face lights up, a beautiful smile breaking across his face. "Sammy's great, Mom. Wait 'till you meet him, he turned out amazing. Oh, crap, he is gonna be so... I should warn you, seeing the two of us at once is gonna freak him out..."

My heart is pounding at the thought of seeing my beloved baby all grown up, but Dean's worried face catches my attention. "What? Why the two of us?"

Dean grimaces. "He, uh, he kinda thinks I'm dead."

"What?!"

"It's really hard to explain, just... I was kind of in the process of sacrificing myself to, um, save the world and then this being, this very powerful creature, well, I survived and she sent me here and I guess she must've resurrected you too-"

"OK, no, wait," I interrupt, my head spinning. Dean snaps his mouth shut, his face a little pink, as though his rambling is mildly embarrassing rather than absolutely horrifying. "You were going to sacrifice yourself?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah. It was the only thing to do."

"Oh, God," I groan, closing my eyes and resting my face in shaking hands. "Oh, God, you're a hunter, aren't you? You're just like my family. Oh, God, no..."

I feel sick. I feel as though I've stepped into a nightmare. But of course my little boy is a hunter, trapped in this cursed life that I'd thought I'd escaped. How else would he and Sam have found me when I was a ghost? Why else would Dean have accepted so quickly that I was alive again after being dead for however many decades? He's a hunter, probably Sam too. Which means-

"John," I whisper in disbelief. "John did this."

Silence greets my words and I raise my head to find Dean regarding me with eyes older than his face, weary grief marring his handsome features. "I'm sorry, Mom."

I drop my hands, blinking away pointless tears, tired already despite having been dead for half a lifetime. "Don't be, sweetheart. Don't be sorry. I'm the one who's sorry. This is all my fault."

Dean shakes his head emphatically, stepping forward. "No-"

"Of course it is," I almost snap, angry at myself but unable to express it clearly. Dean flinches slightly and I shake my head, softening my voice. "I have a past, Dean, I have a curse. And it tore our family apart."

"I know," Dean replies softly, his gaze earnest. "I know, Mom, I know about all of it. You did the best you could."

"But-"

"Doesn't matter," Dean cuts across me firmly. "None of that matters now. You're here, I'm here, we're both alive. I'd call that a miracle, wouldn't you?"

He smiles down at me, hopeful and suddenly very young-looking. I smile back before I even realise it, tears stinging my eyes again. "Yes."

"I'm going to call Sam," he announces suddenly, excitement growing in his eyes, an excitement I recognise from my memories of a cheeky preschooler who loved me with his whole self and lived every moment of his short life in safety and comfort. It strikes me with the force of a sucker punch that I will never see that little boy again. He's lost to me forever, along with all the years I should have had to watch him grown into the stranger before me. I speak to avoid crumpling in helpless grief on the ground, distracting myself.

"I guess I was right all along," I say in a sad attempt at humour. "Angels must really be watching over you."

For some reason, Dean jerks his head up at this, eyes wide and cheeks flushing in the dim light from the device in his hand.

"What is it?" I ask, frowning. Dean stares at me for a moment more before shaking his head, giving an odd huff of laughter.

"One thing at a time," he says cryptically. "First, Sammy."


	2. Chapter 2

**We all want the "he's an angel" misunderstanding to happen but it's too fanservice-y. I want it so bad though. Imagine Mary's face XD**

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There's no reply.

Dean tries to reach Sam half a dozen times on the glowing rectangle he claims is a cell phone. I wait anxiously, shivering until Dean notices and shrugs off his jacket for me. Pride and love rushes through me at this gesture, evidence that my son is as kind and caring in adulthood as he was at four.

With each failed call, my disappointment grows. I can barely remember what Sam's voice sounded like in my one blurred ghostly encounter with him, but I need to hear it again. Finally, Dean gives a growl of frustration that transforms him momentarily into John.

"Dammit," he mutters, staring down at the cell. I sigh quietly, amazed that such a simple human irritation is disrupting this profound experience. Dean looks worried.

"He might be kinda messed up," he murmurs. Shaking his head, he swipes and taps at the screen with his thumb. "I'll try Cas instead."

"Who?" I ask, perplexed, but Dean turns from me, flushing again. He paces away for the first time since seeing me and I raise my eyebrows in interest. My emotions scale abruptly down, from soul-deep shock and joy and agony to simple motherly nosiness. Who is this Cas, important enough for Dean to contact upon surviving certain death and personal enough for him to hide from his long-lost mother? Cas is a woman's name, surely. My heart swells with hope. Maybe Dean's found love, amongst all the death and pain of a hunter's life. I strain my ears to hear at least Dean's half of the conversation.

"Yeah, it's me," Dean says quietly after several seconds of tense silence. This Cas must have answered the call, unlike Sam. Dean hunches his shoulders, ducking his head. His voice is low and intimate when he speaks again; he knows and trusts this woman, whoever she is.

"They talked it out and let me go, if you can believe that. Amara smoked me here. I have no idea where here is, though. But it's definitely Earth. I'm alive, Cas."

Another pause and Dean chuckles, more relaxed than I've heard from him yet. "Yeah, literally thank God, huh? I'm pretty happy about it too. Listen, d'you know where Sam is? I've tried reaching him but no dice. Hope he's not off at a crossroads somewhere, he should be smarter than that by now."

Another pause and then Dean is standing straighter, his voice sharper. "What is it?"

I step forward, fingers clutching at the overlong sleeves of Dean's jacket. He's silent for longer, the tension growing in his posture with every moment, but when he speaks again he sounds suddenly terrified and more than a little angry.

"Who the hell was she?"

My brow furrows in fear and confusion even as Dean speaks again. "And what did she do to Sam?"

Another beat before he practically growls into the phone: "Well, how'd she manage that? I asked you to watch out for him, Cas, you promised me. Jesus Christ..."

Dean has a hand up near his face, possibly rubbing at his forehead. I gulp, hugging myself. Dean speaks again and his voice is quieter now, almost husky, a slight tremble betraying his turmoil. "No, don't... I'm sorry, that was crappy of me. No, Cas, stop it. It's not your fault, she obviously did her homework. OK, so you have no idea where you are?"

I'm shaking hard. Sam. Something's happened to Sam. Dean's voice sounds odd in my ears, as though he's speaking from far away instead of ten feet in front of me.

"Junction City? You sure that's what the sign says? OK, that's real close to home, must have been a weak sigil. You have money?"

I concentrate on keeping my breathing steady and my eyes on Dean's back.

"Alright, good. Your card should be loaded up since you never use it for anything. Get a cab to the bunker. I'll try to get there as quick as I can too. We'll work out what's going on. Sam'll be OK."

Dean sounds more like he's reassuring himself than the woman on the phone. Whatever she says in response seems to relax Dean's shoulders slightly and his voice is warm and almost flustered when he speaks next, convincing me once and for all that this either is or should be Dean's partner.

"Yeah, well, it's good to, uh, hear your voice again too. But anyway, I'm not dead, hooray, it's all good. And, um, there's something else as well, but I reckon it'd be best to explain it in person."

I grimace, realising that I'll be introduced to my possible daughter-in-law as a magically restored corpse. Dean is chuckling again, shaking his head in a fond sort of way, his body language curling around the phone pressed to his ear. If I wasn't petrified for Sam than I'd be grinning like an idiot at the sight of my elder son, all grown up and quite clearly in love.

"No, no, I'm fine. Better than fine. Look, it'll become pretty clear once I meet you at the bunker. Call me when you get there, OK? I'll call you if I get there first. And call me if you hear from Sam, straight away. And Cas... take care of yourself, yeah?"

Another pause, another chuckle. "Yeah, yeah, will do. See you soon."

He hangs up and stares down at the phone for a moment. I speak into the still silence, my voice sounding oddly calm although I'm internally cringing with fear.

"Is Sam in danger?"

Dean twitches and raises his head, taking a deep breath before turning to face me with steely resolve in his eyes. "Maybe. Cas isn't sure what's happened. But we're going home and we will work it out. Sam's tough, he'll be OK."

Again, it's clear who Dean is talking to on the last sentence and it's not me. I shut my eyes for a moment, arms still wrapped around my middle, trying to physically hold myself together. I take a deep breath and nod, already sure that Dean would do anything to keep his brother safe. He adored Sam even when they were little. Changing the subject to keep myself calm, I open my eyes and muster up a false smile.

"So, who's this Cas? Is she someone special?"

Dean's jaw drops and a spark of genuine amusement gets a real smile onto my face.

"Oh, don't look like that," I scold lightly. "I could hear it in your voice when you spoke to her. There must be something there...?"

Dean is turning red so fast it's a little alarming. He mouths like a goldfish, shaking his head and even leaning back a little.

"N-no," he almost gasps. "That's not- Cas isn't-"

I'm almost laughing now, momentarily diverted by Dean's reaction. "She isn't what?"

"He!" Dean almost shouts, eyes wide. "Cas is a he."

That brings me up short. "Oh."

"Yeah," Dean huffs, nodding a little too much. "Yeah, he's a he, so..."

"Well," I say carefully, watching Dean closely. "I didn't realise that, but..."

"He's an angel," Dean states simply. I blink up at him, but he doesn't add to this rather sentimental proclamation. I can feel the smile creeping back onto my face. I'm surprised, of course, but being raised in the hunting lifestyle gifted me with open-mindedness if little else. And love is love; it should be cherished no matter what.

"Honey, that's really lovely," I say softly. "I'm happy for you. I can't wait to meet him."

Dean opens his mouth again, but now there's something new in his eyes. He looks vulnerable and shocked and scared. I reach out and squeeze his hand, trying to reassure him with my smile that it doesn't bother me if he's fallen in love with a man. He gulps, his eyes a little bright.

"Thanks, Mom," he mumbles thickly. I grin up at him and he blinks rapidly, as though clearing his head. "But, uh, you still have the wrong idea. I didn't mean, uh... I mean, Cas is great, but calling him an angel wasn't a compliment. I mean he is literally, um. He is actually an angel. Of the Lord."

I freeze, staring blankly at my son, who is still blushing and glancing away as he continues: "And we're not, uh- Cas and I are just friends. Well, more like family."

There's a ringing silence. I try to take in the knowledge that angels are real, that my sons know one of them, that I'm going to meet him, that he actually does watch over my boys just like I always told them-

"Oh, my," I whisper, swaying a little, feeling faint and overwhelmed. Dean hurriedly catches hold of my other hand, peering at me with concern in his verdant eyes.

"Mom? You OK?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, honey, I'm just a little bit..."

I trail off and Dean's mouth twists wryly. He shrugs.

"Yeah, I getcha. Come on, I heard a car not long ago, behind those trees. Must be a road. We'll hitch a ride to the nearest town and find out where we are, OK?"

I let go of one of his hands and loop my other arm through his elbow, smiling up at him. "OK, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

**They do need to at least give us a hug like come ON Cas's stunned face for that split second in the promo was too heartbreaking, he can't just stand there, I want a hug god DAMN IT-**

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It turns out that we're just outside the town in which my sons live.

Lebanon is quiet and a bit scruffy, even by moonlight. I'm familiar with the small towns of Kansas, but I've barely heard of this place. Dean asks the driver of the delivery truck that picks us up to drop us at the end of a deserted country track just out of town. As we walk up the road, Dean briefly explains that we got dropped in our convenient location by God's actual sister, who was destroying the world until Dean convinced her to mend her relationship with the Lord Almighty, whose name is Chuck.

I don't know what my facial expression is as Dean relays this information, but it's enough for Dean to fall into apologetic silence until we reach his home.

I thought that the term 'bunker' was an affectionate nickname, but as the looming building comes into view I realise that it's not a normal dwelling. I peer up at it as Dean fumbles with a key and unlocks the door, ushering me inside. He switches on lights and I gasp as I see that we're inside an impressive base of some kind, done in an old-fashioned military style with an edge of luxury.

"This is your home?" I murmur in astonishment, but Dean is already hurrying down the metal staircase into the room below, clearly scanning the place for evidence of whatever's happened to Sam. I follow him, watching as he stops in a large doorway to what looks like a library. He pauses there, staring at the wall. My heart lurches as I spot blood splattered and dribbled on the floor at his feet, still not fully dry. As I step carefully up beside my son, I can see that he's examining a set of symbols daubed on the wall in blood. I wrack my brains but I don't recognise it.

"Banishing sigil," Dean mumbles, anger in his eyes. "This is what got rid of Cas."

I glance sideways at him, silently noting the way his fists have clenched. He seems deeply offended and downright pissed off that someone forcibly removed his angel friend from the bunker, despite the fact that Cas is apparently unharmed. I decide not to mention this.

"Whose blood is it?" I ask quietly, dreading the possible answer. But Dean shakes his head.

"Not Sam's. This would have been done by the chick who was waiting here for them, before they arrived. I don't think any of this blood is Sam's."

I sag with relief, although I know that there are many worse things to be than bleeding. "Alright, what about the gunshot mark on the floor?"

"Huh?"

I gesture behind me at the floor of the entrance room. "Someone shot at the floor, you can see it. Was that already there?"

Dean walks over to where I'm pointing and examines the mark before grinning crookedly at me. "Good eye, Mom! I didn't even see this. No, it wasn't there before. Cas did say that the woman had a gun."

I scowl at Dean. "And you only mention this now?"

"Didn't want to worry you," he mutters, shrugging and glancing away. I snort derisively, walking past him to the other side of the table, checking the rest of the floor for blood or marks. There's nothing.

Quite suddenly, almost directly above my head, the front door bangs open. Heavy footsteps hurry to the top of the stairs. I stand frozen as a deep, throaty male voice rings out, heavy with emotion.

"Dean?"

Dean is gazing up at someone I can't see, a quietly joyful smile shining from his eyes, his mouth curving upwards in unconscious welcome.

"Cas." I blink at the caressing quality in his voice, the mixture of reverence and comfortable familiarity emanating from the single syllable. Footsteps sound on the stairs, clattering down them at jogging speed. I crane my neck, anxious to finally lay eyes on a real angel of Heaven but also on the being who has so obviously captured my son's heart.

He looks so normal. Cheap suit pants disappear beneath a sensible tan coat. He's around Dean's height and build. I can only see his profile but he looks quite handsome, with dark stubble and an almost-neat hairstyle. If I looked twice at him on the street it would only be to idly check him out and then dismiss him as a boring office type.

The way he halts at the foot of the stairs and stares at Dean, though, is anything but boring. I can't see the angel's expression but I can see the tense set of his strong shoulders and the anxious flex of his graceful fingers. Dean is staring at him with some kind of silent communication, a language of eye contact that makes me wonder if angels converse telepathically. I hold my breath as the room seems to pause and the two of them just gaze at each other, still over six feet apart, the air between them pulsing with a tension that's almost tangible.

Then Dean grins, spreading his arms a little as though he's about to perform a bow. "Miss me?"

"Yes," comes the immediate answer, low and solemn. Dean has time to colour up a little and roll his eyes before Cas strides forward and roughly pulls him into a hug. Dean's eyes go wide with surprise as his chin drops naturally onto Cas's shoulder, but as the angel wraps him up and rocks slightly from side to side, they flutter closed and he carefully places his hands on Cas's back. The odd awkwardness of it all makes me think that they mustn't hug often, which is a shame because the look of unguarded bliss on Dean's face is one that I want to see there as often as possible.

They stand hugging in silence for a little too long and I'm just starting to feel uncomfortable when Dean clears his throat and claps Cas heartily on the back, pulling away with downcast eyes. I narrow my gaze critically, suddenly certain that I've just witnessed my son's default reaction to physical affection, possibly from anyone but definitely from Cas.

"Dean..." Cas murmurs as Dean shuffles back, still not looking at him. I almost blush because damn, if I heard my name spoken in that gravelly voice with that much longing and tenderness, I'd be a puddle of goo on the floor. But my son is clearly made of sterner stuff. He takes a deep breath, meets Cas's eyes and speaks without preamble.

"My Mom's alive."

There's a pause before the angel responds, sounding concerned. "Your mother? Alive? Dean, that's not possible."

Dean breaks into a smile, looking past Cas to grin at me. "Yeah? Tell her that."

I've drifted forward on silent bare feet, so I'm barely five feet behind Cas when he spins around to look at me and I come to face to face with a real, actual angel.

He's more handsome now that I'm looking at him properly, although he's still not a patch on John or my boys as far as I'm concerned. What really stuns me are the eyes. They're blue, certainly a very nice blue, although not a very uncommon or arresting colour. However, they're intense. They focus on me with sharp precision and ancient regard, looking through and into me, seeing more than a human eye ever could. I stare into those eyes and feel closer to God in that moment than I ever did in Heaven.

"Mary Winchester?" Cas asks me sceptically. I nod rather timidly, mustering up a shaky smile and extending a hand. Cas squints at me, tilting his head to the side in a pose that renders him almost cute, in an owl-like way. The idea of an angel of the Lord being cute prompts an odd, strangled sort of laugh from me.

"I'm sorry," I say weakly. "I've never met an angel before."

Cas glances down at my hand, still outstretched. He takes it, his grip warm and gentle. Those ocean eyes meet mine again, still a little narrowed in puzzlement.

"Yes, you have."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much for the awesome response this has gotten! Here's another chapter showcasing my love for the weird Dean/Crowley romance that's actually sort of canon? And the lingering crush on Dean that Crowley has that is definitely canon? And the way the show has repeatedly created a strange, vague love triangle dynamic for Dean/Cas/Crowley? I just love that. I hope you do too. Also lol I made a joke about Mary's actress's name being basically Mary's son's name haw haw haw**

* * *

I screw up my face, confused. "What? No, I ha-"

"Anyway," says Dean loudly, casting an annoyed glance at Cas and tugging me away by the elbow. I go with him reluctantly, my eyes still locked with Cas's until I tear them away to look up at Dean.

"Don't worry about him, he says weird stuff all the time," Dean says dismissively, an odd anxiety in his eyes. I frown, sure that he's hiding something from me. Pulling away, I turn back to Cas, who's watching Dean with a mildly irritated cast to his stoic features.

"Regardless, it's lovely to meet you," I tell the angel politely. He refocuses on me and smiles a little, the expression endearingly awkward on his face.

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you too. I gather that Dean told you about me; my name is Castiel and I consider myself a friend to your sons."

"Family, I told you," Dean mutters from behind me. The smile that breaks across Castiel's face at this is far more genuine than before and he actually ducks his head, teeth flashing and dimples appearing in his cheeks. I'm starting to wonder if all angels are this adorable.

"Family it is, then," I say firmly. "And yes, Dean did mention you, although I didn't realise that Cas was short for Castiel."

He nods, glancing over my shoulder at my son. "Yes. Dean likes to use the shortened name. I assume it saves energy, since it's two less syllables."

"I think nicknames are usually a sign of affection, actually," I tell Cas casually. The angel looks both surprised and pleased but Dean huffs, stepping into my peripheral vision.

"OK, time to move on," he grouses. I suppress a smirk. "Don't get me wrong, I'm real glad you two get along, real glad. But Sam has been abducted."

Those words are like a slap in the face and I feel ashamed that I got so distracted. Castiel is nodding seriously, standing up a little taller.

"How can we find him?" he asks in his deep voice. Dean looks utterly lost but it seems fairly obvious to me.

"Blood tracking spell," I say firmly, drawing the attention of both my companions. "The woman left her blood all over the place. Rookie error. We can use it to create something of a compass, showing us which direction she took him in. It's crude and it will fade if we don't work fast, but it's a good lead."

Dean is staring at me with his mouth slightly open but Cas is nodding slowly, eyeing me with approval.

"That might work," he mutters. "Mary, do you remember how to create such a spell?"

I snort lightly, shaking my head. "It's been years, even discounting the time that's passed since... since Sam was a baby. I remember most of the ingredients, but none of the Latin. We need a spellbook."

"Which means we need Rowena," Cas responds, earning a puzzled look from me. Dean sighs.

"Which means we need Crowley to go get her."

Neither Dean nor Castiel look pleased about this. I venture a question. "Who's Crowley?"

"He's the King of Hell, although his position is quite tenuous at the moment," Cas explains calmly. "Regardless, he's a powerful demon and he can get to Rowena for us."

I open and then close my mouth, stunned and a little horrified. Castiel appears to mistake my appalled expression for another question.

"Rowena is Crowley's mother, a witch in possession of the Book of the Damned, which is a very useful spellbook."

I shake my head stiffly at him and turn to Dean, fists clenched. "Demons and witches?!"

Dean shifts uncomfortably on the spot. "Yeah, look, needs must. It's not ideal-"

"Not ideal?" I repeat incredulously. "Dean, demons are evil."

"Yeah," he agrees, as though this is an obvious statement, which it is. "But Crowley comes in useful and he's weirdly loyal."

"I wonder why," mumbles Cas from behind me, sounding surprisingly sarcastic. I turn and raise my eyebrows at him, but he shrugs and walks away. "I'm going to go and gather the necessary materials to summon Crowley. I'll bring them back here."

I turn back to Dean as the angel exits the room. "What about the witch? Witches are revolting, Dean, really."

"Mom, I get it," he snaps, crossing his arms and looking almost sulky. "I ain't exactly thrilled about working with a witch. They're gross. But Rowena knows her stuff and that book of hers..."

I continue to glare at him until he drops his arms, fixing me with a very serious expression. "Mom, we have to get Sam back."

I can't argue with that. Slumping and nodding, I cast my eyes around the room. There's a cupboard in the corner with a faded first aid symbol on it and I walk across to it, skirting the blood splatters on the floor. Searching through the outdated but extensive first aid kit in the cupboard, I withdraw a gauze pad. Dean watches me with interest as I step delicately through the spots of blood on the floor until I reach the largest splatter, still sticky in the middle. Dabbing firmly at the blood, I manage to get a decent amount of it onto the small square of gauze. As I straighten up, Castiel returns to the room with a shallow bowl piled high with familiar ingredients. I stare moodily at the vials and jars he lays out on the world map decorating the table in the middle of the room. I never thought I'd have to get involved in spellcraft again.

I hang back as Dean and Cas quickly assemble a summoning spell, using washable paint to roughly daub a devil's trap onto the floor. Before I can really prepare myself, Dean is reading out Latin in a grim voice and Castiel has stepped subtly to block me, his stance protective.

"I thought you said this Crowley was loyal?" I mutter to him, stepping up beside him. He glances down at me, frowning.

"Demons can't be trusted," he replies firmly. I nod in approval and he nods back before refocusing on Dean. There's a loud silence in the room after Dean completes the spell and I shift impatiently, looking back up at Castiel to ask if summoning a demon takes very long-

"Well, well, well. I knew you'd killed Death, but this is still rather impressive, Squirrel. How many times are you going to miraculously survive before you finally give us all a break?"

Jerking in shock, I look back at the devil's trap to see a stocky man in an expensive all-black suit standing there, hands shoved comfortably into his pockets. He's not overly attractive but he oozes confidence and charm, helped along by his smooth English accent. His brown eyes are fixed on Dean, calculating and amused.

"Yeah, yeah," snaps Dean, eyeing the demon with distaste. "Nice to see you too, Crowley."

Crowley gives a condescending false smile, somehow swaggering despite standing still. He casts a lazy eye over Castiel and then lingers on me, looking intrigued. I scowl at him.

"Huh," he says mildly. "I was expecting the angel boyfriend, but unless Moose has undergone some drastic surgery and is now known as Samantha, I don't think I know your lovely new friend here."

"Eyes on me," Dean almost snarls, lip curling. Crowley gives me a smirk before swinging back around to gaze at Dean through his lashes.

"Hmm, so forceful," he purrs, clearly flirting. Beside me, Cas gives a weary little sigh as though this is the norm. I raise my eyebrows, more convinced than ever that my son is definitely a little more diverse in his tastes than I initially assumed. Dean flushes and glares hotly at the demon.

"We need Rowena and the spell book-" he begins in a tense voice. Crowley cuts across him, shaking his head.

"Dean, Dean, why so hasty? Here you are, back from the grave yet again, and you haven't even told me how. Are we not old friends?"

"Friends?" Dean repeats with a snort. "We were allies for a while there, because the world was ending. Not exactly the same thing. Look, I didn't bring you here to fight you or do you any harm. I just need Rowena."

Crowley eyes Dean unhappily for a moment before shrugging. "I was still with her when you dragged me here. Let me go and I'll bring her back with me."

"And how do I know you'll come back?"

The demon sighs dramatically. "God, you're clingy. If you going to be like this then I have to say, Dean... I'm not sure our relationship can work out."

"Crowley-"

"I'll come back!" he interrupts loudly, spreading his hands and rolling his eyes. "Got nothing better to do. Besides, you might kill the bitch and that'd do me a favour. Try not to botch it up like Lucifer, alright?"

Dean grimaces at him but steps forward and kneels down to rub at the paint with his sleeve. Crowley stares down at Dean's bowed head for a moment before raising his gaze and sending a clearly lewd smirk at Castiel, his posture smug and cocky, stepping subtly closer to my son as he silently aggravates the angel. I grit my teeth in outrage and glance sideways at Cas to see him radiating loathing and fury, eyes burning with anger as he glares at Crowley. I gulp, suddenly not so sure that this terrifying creature beside me can be described as 'adorable'. Dean stands up, apparently unaware that he's at the centre of an unspoken rivalry between two supernatural beings. I shake my head in disbelief.

"OK, you're free to go. But make sure you come straight back with Rowena and the Book of the Damned. We don't have much time."

"See you soon," Crowley murmurs silkily, before disappearing abruptly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry, this is a short chapter! Glad people are liking this little fic :D**

* * *

"I don't like him," I announce as soon as the demon is gone. Castiel shrugs.

"None of us like him."

Dean nods, crossing his arms and leaning back against the table. "He's a grade A douchebag. Helps out a fair bit though, when he's not screwing us over."

I open my mouth to ask why but then recall the intense interest Crowley showed in Dean, along with Cas's mixture of resignation and hostility when faced with it. With a sense of discomfort, I decide that I probably already know why.

Before I can dwell on this too much, Crowley materialises in our midst once more. This time he has a woman with him, around my own age but far more glamourous. She's petite, with a haughty expression and long red hair to match her long crimson evening gown. Crowley is gripping her by the arm but she wrenches away within moments of arriving, a slight snarl on her pretty lips.

"Let go of me, Fergus," she hisses. I blink in surprise at her distinctive Scottish accent. She's holding a heavy, ancient-looking book in her slim arms, which she shifts to one hip. Brushing off her spotless dress with a fussy air, she surveys the room imperiously, pert nose wrinkling in distaste.

"Ugh, back here again?" Her cat-like eyes land on Dean and she freezes in clear shock. "Ye survived? How the hell did y'manage that?"

"Doesn't matter," says Dean gruffly. "Rowena, we need you to perform a tracking spell. Can you do that?"

"Can I do that?" Rowena repeats in offended disbelief, which then turns to exaggerated hurt. "Ye do wound me, Dean."

"Can you or not?" I snap, impatient with her dramatic stalling when my son's life could be in danger. She turns to look at me with impossibly high eyebrows, lips pursed in distaste.

"And who the hell are you?" she asks, eyeing my nightgown as though its presence in the room is an insult. I step forward, seething, and Cas slides smoothly in front of me.

"Rowena," he says simply, quiet warning in his voice. She rolls her eyes and hefts the book to the table, pushing rudely past Crowley who glares daggers at her back. I recall suddenly that these two are mother and son, as well as the fact that Crowley encouraged Dean to kill her if possible. I suppress a shudder at the company my family appears to keep.

"Alright, let's see here..." Rowena mutters, running a manicured nail down a tattered page of the book. She halts her search and looks up at Dean, smirking in self-satisfaction. I want to slap her.

"Trackin' spell," she says, smugness dripping from her tone. Dean nods eagerly.

"OK, so put it together," he urges. She slams the book shut, expression suddenly cold.

"And what do I get in return?"

Crowley scoffs quietly, turning away and catching my eye. He grimaces at me as though his mother's conniving nature is old news. I suppose it is, to everyone else. Looking back at Dean, I see him glowering, clearly about to tell her where to shove her conditions.

"What do you want?"

I ask the question loudly, firmly. Rowena turns to face me too slowly, eyes speculative. Dean and Cas have identical frowns on their faces. The witch stares at me for a moment before answering, quiet and more genuine than before.

"I want a place in the world that's not cowering in the shadows," she says in a low voice. "I want power and I want freedom."

She turns back to Dean and raises her chin. "I want immunity. Yer word that you'll let me establish my coven without interfering. Hell, I want ye to protect me if the need arises."

I wince, knowing as only a hunter can that what she is asking is anathema to anyone raised fighting evil. Ignoring a witch is hard, ignoring a coven is an enormous struggle, but protecting one? Practically impossible.

But Dean loves his brother, that much is abundantly clear.

"Fine," he grits out after swallowing hard. "Immunity. Now do the damn spell."

Rowena smiles a sickening smile, red lips stretching over small but predatory teeth. "Gladly."

Turning, she picks up a pot of animal blood - I hope - still sitting on the table from Dean and Castiel's previous spellwork. Flipping the book back open, she peers at the illustration there and daubs a rough copy of it carelessly onto the table top, directly over Kansas on the world map although that's probably more for artistic satisfaction than any kind of magical effect. Putting the pot aside, she speaks without looking up from the spell book.

"I need somethin' to track."

I walk forward and drop the gauze beside her, stiff with dried blood. She glances at it and I can feel that she's about to look at me so I turn and walk away quickly, skin prickling with disgust. I really hate witches.

I stay facing away as I hear her begin chanting, crossing my arms and staring at the wall. I'm so tired. My feet are cold again. Castiel shuffles a step closer to me, radiating awkwardness but clearly trying to offer some kind of solidarity although he doesn't try to touch me and I can't feel his eyes on me. I feel a thrum of fondness in my chest and it takes me by surprise. I already sort of count Cas as family, although I'm still a little wary of him. For the first time, I wonder uneasily if angels are as benevolent as I wanted to believe when Dean was small. I trust Castiel, but he is not human and I know very little about his species. Are there more of them? Are they all friendly?

My musing is cut short as Rowena abruptly stops chanting.

"There," she announces proudly. I spin around to see that the gauze is glowing a dull blue and there is a streak of the same colour hanging faintly in the air, winding up the stairs in a meandering trail.

"OK," says Dean excitedly, clapping his hands together. "Let's go find Sammy."


	6. Chapter 6

**I didn't realise this fic would be so John/Mary, huh. Guess I ship it more than I thought, in a sad sort of way. But I'm glad that I predicted - from the looks of the promos - Mary's emotional reunion with Baby :)**

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Crowley and Rowena leave us to embark on our quest alone, to my intense relief. I stand in the small bedroom that Dean's shown me to, pulling on thick socks, overlarge jeans and an enormous, soft shirt, belting the jeans tightly and buttoning the shirt all the way up. Dean left me the jacket he gave me in the woods and I snuggle back into it gratefully, inhaling the faint scent that I wish I recognised more.

There's a light knock at the door. "Mary? We're leaving soon."

"Coming, Castiel," I call out. I fold my nightdress and lay it on the bed. There's a box of odds and ends sitting on the bed too and I brighten as I spot an elastic band holding a bunch of old fountain pens together. Taking it, I hurrriedly secure my hair in a braid and exit the room, heading through the austere but softly lit hallways back to the entrance room.

Dean is standing at the table conversing softly with Cas, eyes locked on each other as they stand with their elbows almost touching. Almost, but not quite. I smile and clear my throat, alerting them to my presence. Dean looks across at me and breaks into a grin.

"Hey, Mom. Made you a coffee before we go, if you want it."

He gestures at a steaming mug on the table. I thank him fervently, picking it up and sniffing at it. I'd forgotten about food and drink. Food and drink existed in Heaven but I never consumed any of it, it was just there to complete the scene. I had no thirst or hunger in death.

"This is perfect," I say in surprise after taking a sip. I eye Dean curiously. "How did you know how I take my coffee?"

"Dad told me," Dean shrugs, gulping down the last of his own mug. I blink at him.

"Why would John tell you that?"

Dean smiles sadly at me. "He told us weird little details about you every year on your birthday. 'Bout the only time he sat us down for a proper family dinner. It was nice…"

He trails off as he sees the tears that have sprung up in my eyes. I wave him off as he starts towards me, looking anxious.

"That's lovely," I sniff, taking another sip of coffee. Then I look up sharply, realising what he actually said. "Wait, he only sat you down to a family dinner once per year? What about your own birthdays? Christmas? Thanksgiving?"

Dean shifts uncomfortably. "Nah, wasn't really our thing."

I stare at him, stricken, but Cas shuffles awkwardly and speaks. "We should probably get going."

"Yep," agrees Dean loudly, putting his mug down. He hefts a duffel bag up from the table onto his shoulder and carefully picks up the bloodied gauze with its ethereal blue trail. I store away my growing unease regarding John's parenting and gulp down the remainder of my coffee quickly, putting the mug next to Dean's. We all climb the stairs briskly, stepping out into the cold pre-dawn darkness. Dean walks up the lane, using a torch from his bag to light the gravelly ground before us. I gasp as the light falls upon the wheel of a car, moving up to reveal a sleek black body and a familiar shape.

The Impala.

"You still have this thing?" I splutter. Dean looks offended as he unlocks the front door.

"Of course. Never gonna break up with Baby."

"You call it Baby too?" I groan, although I'm actually sort of thrilled to see this car again. So many memories…

I slide into the back seat, declining Cas's offer of riding shotgun. The engine rumbles to life and I sink into the sound, feeling ridiculously emotional. It's just a car. But it's also John, young and charming, arm nervously sliding across the seat behind my head as we sit at the drive-in. It's warm nights parked up somewhere secluded, falling more in love with each kiss. It's tin cans tied to the back and 'just married' scrawled onto a cardboard sign stuck in the rear window. It's speeding to the hospital, contractions taking my breath away. It's a booster seat in the back and preschool pamphlets in the glove compartment and a chubby pair of hands cradling a wrench as Daddy's helper in the garage…

I close my eyes, biting my lip. All gone now, but this car is still around. And miraculously, so am I. I need to start feeling grateful instead of cheated and heartbroken.

I feel exhausted enough to sleep, but I don't. Instead I watch the sunrise and listen to the idle chatter between Dean and Cas, discussing TV shows that they watch on something called a netflix, from what I can gather. Hours pass and the stream of blue light stretches out in front of us from the gauze sitting on the dash, petering out about twenty yards away, swinging a little from side to side with each small change of direction.

It's almost midday and my eyelids are drooping when I see Cas reach over and briefly tap the back of Dean's hand on the wheel. Dean flinches slightly.

"You're very tired, Dean. You should stop driving and sleep."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna lose the trail and give up on my brother. No, Cas, I'm fine."

"Your body can probably stay awake for around two more hours, but you may briefly fall asleep at the wheel before that if you don't rest. I can take over driving."

"Nah."

"Dean."

"Ugh, fine, jeez."

I chuckle to myself at Dean's quick capitulation. He pulls over, rolling his eyes and muttering about amateur medical opinions but yawning hugely as he stumbles out onto the road and stretches. We're in the middle of nowhere, empty fields all around, the sun half obscured by dull clouds. I watch with amusement as Castiel settles into the driver's seat, movements careful.

"I'm guessing he doesn't let you drive much?" I tease lightly. Dean has wandered off behind some bushes, clearly urinating. I requested a stop at a road services within a few hours of setting off, to avoid exactly that situation.

"Practically never," Cas admits, long fingers stroking a little at the wheel. "Only when he taught me how."

"Dean taught an angel how to drive?" I ask incredulously. Castiel meets my eyes in the rear view mirror, nodding.

"Yes. Dean has taught me a lot. More than he knows."

I grin at his solemn voice. "Maybe you should tell him."

Cas shakes his head, eyes saddening. "He doesn't want to know."

I ponder this as Dean lopes back to the car, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning his head back, eyes shut, ready for sleep.

"OK back there, Mom?" he asks lightly.

"Yeah, honey," I murmur, leaning my own head back. Cas pulls back onto the road smoothly and I sigh, my own eyes closing. It's not long before my son and I are both fast asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**OK so who's seen 12x01? I really loved it, defs up for discussing it on PM :D spoilers I guess but dat reunion. I almost laughed myself sick. I wrote that scene in a fucking destiel fanfic and it STILL wasn't as gay as on the actual show. Dean's little smile. Cas's emotional voice. The fucking HUG. 'This is Castiel' like he's introducing someone he's already told Mary about, but obviously he neglected to mention the fact that Cas is an angel, oh nooo probably too busy telling her that Cas likes weird analogies and his eyes crinkle up real cute. Fucking hell.  
Also Misha's Cas(s) livestream :') that man takes sarcasm to ridiculous levels, but he needs to work on his corpsing. I am more convinced than ever that he should go into politics when he retires from acting. If Arnie could do it Misha sure as hell can.  
Anyway, enjoy this chapter :)**

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When I wake up the sun is low in the sky and Dean is arguing with Cas in a hushed, tense voice.

"I'm just sayin' it's worth a try-"

"The spell won't work twice, Dean. It's run its course and that's it."

Opening my eyes, I see that the two of them are leaning over the piece of bloodied gauze we enchanted, clutched in Dean's hands. It's not glowing any more. Cas is looking at the top of Dean's head, mouth twisted with sorrow.

"It's given us a good lead."

"Yeah, great," Dean snaps, slumping back in his own seat. I look out the window to see that we've parked on a quiet main street running through a small town. I sigh, dismayed but not surprised that the spell wore off.

"Mom?"

I look back at the front to see that Dean is peering at me. I smile sadly at him.

"Guess it's up to us now, huh?"

"Yeah."

I gather myself. "Right. Well, no use moaning about it. We need to ask at the gas station. You never know, they might have stopped here."

Dean nods, clearly trying to fake a positive attitude. For the first time since meeting him, he reminds me of myself. I blink at him as he speaks.

"Yeah, this is actually the first town in a while so it's a real possibility if they didn't stop for gas earlier. Let's go!"

He says the last part to Castiel, who nods and starts the engine, pulling out and driving the single block up to the gas station. It's probably the only one in town and it's certainly the only one along the main road passing through. We park and clamber out, Dean and I stretching, Cas squinting suspiciously around the area.

"I'll do the questioning," he states firmly, heading towards the shop. Dean shrugs, following along behind him. I fall in as well, frowning as I realise that I feel hungry.

"Dean?" I ask hesitantly, feeling annoyed that I need to ask this. "Could I, uh, borrow some money? For food?"

Dean stops immediately, looking apologetic. "Crap, Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't think of it. Here…"

He pulls a battered leather wallet from his back pocket and flicks it open, pulling out a vaguely familiar note. I frown as I take it from him.

"Dean, this is a lot of money, there's no need…"

He blinks at me. "Huh? It's only a twenty."

It takes me a moment, but then I remember that decades have passed. Of course everything would cost more now. Nodding uneasily, I clutch the money as we enter the small grocery store attached to the gas station. Castiel is already at the counter, leaning over to watch footage of something on a small screen.

Everything looks so modern. All the packaging is in the uncanny valley of familiar but different. I pick things up and then discard them again, never having been fond of junk food even when I was in my teens. I see a case of heated pies next to the counter and drift over. Castiel has finished watching whatever he was checking out and is on the other side of the store, talking to Dean in a low voice.

"One apple pie, please," I say to the bored-looking store assistant. I receive my change - even after decades of inflation, it's clear that twenty dollars was still an exorbitant amount for Dean to give me for gas station snack prices - and wander towards my companions as I demolish half of the pie in one bite, grimacing at the familiar crappy taste of overly sweet mushy filling and stale pastry.

"Apple pie?" Dean chuckles as he spots my purchase. "Yours was always the best."

"Thank you," I smile up at him. I focus on Castiel. "What did you find out?"

He talks faster than usual, excited. "I believe that the woman who took Sam did come here. It was hard to see who was in her car on the cameras but it looked like another woman was her passenger, and the trunk was certainly large enough for a person."

I almost drop the remainder of the pie, shock and relief spasming through me."Thank God! You're sure it was her?"

Cas nods. "I only glimpsed her at the bunker, but it looked very much like her and we know that she was here from the tracking spell. We've travelled practically in a straight line from Lebanon so we must have followed almost their exact route."

Beside Cas, Dean is grinning widely and nodding. "Tell her the best part."

Castiel cracks a smile. "They're staying in town."

"You're joking," I breathe, tears pricking my eyes. Castiel shakes his head seriously.

"I am not known to joke often, Mary."

"Too true," snorts Dean. Without warning, he steps forward and catches me up in a clumsy hug, almost getting pie all over his jacket. I laugh into his shoulder, squeezing his waist with my free arm. He pulls back and I pop the rest of the pie into my mouth with a feeling of triumph, that familiar buzz from back in my hunting days telling me I'm closing in on my target. I haven't missed the feeling, but it's damn welcome right now. I'm getting my baby boy back, today.

As I chew I watch Dean hold up his hand to high five Cas, grinning expectantly as the angel pauses and then gently presses their palms together. I swallow my mouthful around a chuckle at Dean's fading smile, the way he looks from their joined hands back to Castiel's fond expression, how he hesitates before rolling his eyes and yanking his hand back.

"You'd think you'd know how to high five by now, Cas," he grumbles.

"I'm pretty sure he does," I remark with some amusement, stepping up to Castiel myself. "Thank you, Cas."

Reaching up, I tug him down for a hug of my own, catching his surprised and unsure expression as I close my arms around his unyielding shoulders and press our cheeks together. His skin is warm and stubbled and he smells so complicated, like smoke and dust and petrichor and burning and flowers and the ocean, all at once. Vibrant life and ancient death, entwined and made new. I'm not sure if I like it, but I do like the way he hesitantly pats my back with one hand, the rumble of his voice in his ear as he assures me that there's no need to thank him. I like Castiel, I realise, and I want him to know that. I pull back and beam up at his confused face as I cup his cheek with my hand.

"Not just for this. Thank you for everything," I tell him firmly. "Thank you for looking after my boys. Thank you for being here for Dean. Thank you for being part of this family when I couldn't."

Cas blinks and gulps, looking like he might actually tear up, and I wonder for a moment if I'm being too weird - probably - when Dean harrumphs from behind me.

"Mom," he says gruffly. I drop my hands and step back sheepishly, glancing at my son who is watching me with something like concern. "You're, uh, going a little overboard."

"It's true," I say defensively. Dean nods hastily, glancing at Cas who is silent and soft-eyed, smiling a little at his own shoes.

"Yeah, of course, Cas is- Cas is really-"

He struggles for a moment before giving up and looking back at me. "But this ain't a TV show. Trust me, I'd be wearing more make up. Let's just go find Sam, OK? Mushy crap can wait until then."

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves the shop.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the delay on this chapter, wrapping up the last of my uni work for the year! Man, writing this while watching the canon events unfold at the same time is weird. I might wrap this fic up soon.  
** **SPOILERS FOR 12x03: I was surprised but kinda impressed by Mary deciding to go her own way. Like, it's very sad and clearly between this and Cas, Dean is going to be struggling with his good ol' abandonment issues once again. Poor Sam too. He barely got any time with her and he knew things were headed this way. Anyway, Mary isn't to know how much she's needed; as far as she knows, her sons are emotionally functioning adults with healthy relationships. LOL as if, but I can see why she'd think so. And she is in fact a person who is stuck in an impossibly stressful and upsetting situation :( the show's take on her response to this is probably more realistic than my 'mother instincts take care of most of the drama' approach. Oh well.  
In other news, I used 'morning sunshine' from Dean to Cas in my long-running fic 'Escalation' and now it's canon! OMG THEY'RE SO MARRIED**

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I wheel back to face Castiel after Dean abruptly leaves, feeling a little indignant.

"Is he always this allergic to emotional honesty?" I ask sharply. The angel nods without hesitation, already moving past me as though tethered to Dean by invisible rope. I huff and fold my arms, wondering how John could have raised our son like this. John, who wrote me awful songs and tried to play them with questionable guitar skills. John, who spent more of my pregnancies tearing up over baby clothes than I did. John, who used to embarrass our friends with his publicly displayed affection. John was never this reticent about his feelings.

Maybe it's just Dean. Maybe he's just a closed off sort of person, more like me. But I can handle baring my feelings around those I love, and Dean sure as hell loves Cas. Maybe that's the problem, though.

Once we get Sam back and I've gotten to know him a little, I am going to have a serious talk with him about his brother. Assuming Sam isn't just as skittish.

I follow out to the car and climb in, nerves tingling as we pull out and cruise up the road. Dean is driving again. We wind through town, Castiel giving quiet directions to the motel that the mystery kidnappers are staying at. We arrive in less than five minutes, at a shabby little place on the edge of town. We park and get out, gathering by the Impala and sharing a deep breath of anticipation.

"Room twelve," Castiel murmurs, clearly recognising the car parked there. Dean opens the trunk of the Impala and I blink down at it, taken aback that the dusty space I used to load groceries into is now full of hunter's weaponry. Dean pulls out a vintage revolver, loads it and hands it to me. I take it gratefully, testing the long-forgotten feel of a gun in my hand. I used to be pretty decent at shooting. Hopefully I haven't totally lost my skills.

Armed and ready, the three of us stalk towards room twelve. Castiel is wielding an interesting silver blade, like an elongated triangle-based pyramid. Dean is levelling a gun like me, although his is far more modern. We reach the door and Dean nods shortly at Cas, his face grim. Castiel looks equally as serious as he moves back only to kick the door off its hinges in one swift movement. He strides in, Dean close behind him, with me bringing up the rear.

The sight within is not unexpected, but that makes it no less unpleasant. Two women stand in the centre of the room, both dressed smartly and very neatly. The one with dark hair is holding a small, curved blade with faintly glowing runes on it. The blonde woman is holding a clipboard and a pen. They're looming over a slumped figure in a chair that's been roughly attached to the floor. The figure in question has clearly been tortured, a tall and powerful man turned hunched and silent with pain and exhaustion. His clothes are ripped and bloody, bruises and cuts littering his faintly olive skin. Lank brown hair falls over his face but I still know who this is.

Sam.

The women look shocked for all of a nanosecond before launching into action, the blonde one dropping the clipboard and backing up as the dark haired one brandishes her knife and drops into a defensive pose. I step forward, ready to shoot, but Dean strides past me, face contorted with fury. He lets off a couple of shots which miss the women, the air around them rippling, the distortion so subtle I barely see it, but-

"They're warded!" I hiss. Dean swears and in the few seconds it's taken us to work out the situation, the brunette has made a decision. I cry out as I see her throw the knife straight at Dean, my throat constricting.

I needn't have worried, however. Cas steps smoothly in front of Dean, barely flinching as the blade buries itself in his shoulder. He yanks it out, dripping blood, and advances upon the two women wielding two knives now, eyes fierce. The blonde has been scrabbling at her ankle and I almost snort as she finally brings up a tiny gun, her face pale and reluctant but her her jaw set in determination. She's clearly not accustomed to combat. I would sympathise if my son wasn't chained to a chair and bleeding in her motel room. I duck as she shoots, lurching sideways. Dean has reached Sam and is whispering to him as he starts to pick at his manacles. I shoot pointlessly at the two women, trying to stop them from noticing what Dean is doing.

Castiel has reached where the warding protects the two women and he grimaces as he forces his way through it, the air shimmering and bending around him. The blonde is emptying her gun at him now, to no avail, her teeth gritted. The brunette tries to swing her fist at him but leaps backwards when he swipes at her with his silver blade. I follow after Cas, hoping that he's damaged the warding enough for me to get through, but it almost knocks me off of my feet. I turn and hurry to help Dean, hoping that Castiel can keep our enemies occupied.

"Sam," I whisper in a choked voice, dropping down beside my sons. Dean has picked one of the ankle restraints free and is working on the other one, tongue poking out in concentration. Sam looks semi-conscious, his bleary but shocked gaze lifting to me and then widening.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey," I breathe, laying a hesitant hand on his knee. "It's me."

Sam shakes his head slowly, face screwed up in pain and confusion. "But, Dean… and you… I… am I dead?"

"No," I say firmly. "Sam Winchester, you are very much alive. Dean, you have another pick?"

"Nope, sorry," Dean grunts, exclaiming in triumph as he undoes the other ankle restraint. He moves immediately onto the handcuffs, barely glancing over my shoulder as he does so. "How's Cas doing?"

I spin around to see Cas grappling with the brunette. Beside them, the blonde slumps against the sideboard, clutching a stab wound in her stomach. She looks like she's on the verge of collapse. Even as I watch, Cas manages to slit the brunette's throat. I wince at the familiar scene, the bright scarlet wound and the gurgling sounds of her last breaths. The angel steps back to allow her to drop at his feet and then, breathing heavily, he touches two fingers to the blonde's forehead. She drops as well, eyes sliding shut, but he catches her and lifts her effortlessly. As he lays her on one of the motel beds and hovers a glowing hand over her bleeding abdomen, I hear Dean give a small whoop next to me.

"Done! Sammy, you are a free man. Hey, Cas?"

Castiel strides over and crouches down, peering at Sam with clear relief on his face. "Sam, I'm so glad that you're alright."

"Cas," greets Sam, still looking unfocused and puzzled. Cas sighs and brushes his fingertips lightly over Sam's forehead, closing his eyes in concentration. Dean watches closely, eyes trained on his brother's face. Sam gasps and screws up his brow in discomfort, but a moment later he opens his eyes again, looking far more lucid. His cuts and bruises have healed, although the blood and sweat remain on his skin. Cas slumps backwards, sitting heavily on the floor, face pale.

"Oh my God," mumbles Sam, staring first at Dean and then at me. "What- how-"

"Yeah, turns out I didn't die," Dean grins. "Oh, and Mom's back too. Surprise!"

I bite back a groan and exchange a pained look with Castiel. Tact is not Dean's strong suit.


	9. Chapter 9

**OK I'm so sorry to everyone who wanted this fic to become a longer thing but I might just end it here, and you can imagine whatever you want to come next or just stitch it onto the canon events of the show. I think it's just messing with my head a little to write this while divergent events are happening on screen. I have really liked writing Mary though, and it's been nice to write some outsider POV destiel too. Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, faved and followed this little fic! Signing off on it now xxx**

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Sam chokes out what might be a laugh or a sob before half-tackling his brother, falling out of the chair to wrap long arms around him. Tears sting my eyes at the sight, the love and relief on Dean's face, the way he barely keeps from being bowled over but still returns the embrace fully. Sam buries his face in Dean's shoulder and I think to myself that at least John got this right. At least my boys understand how important they are to each other. At least my family wasn't totally torn apart, if these two are still there for each other.

Sam pulls back and turns to me and I feel embarrassed because tears are rolling down my cheeks, but it's just so much to look at this utter stranger who I have no recognition of and think of my precious little baby. My Sammy who I got so little time with, who's apparently become this enormous, beloved person with absolutely no input from me. My last moments before death were consumed with fear for him and now he's here, gazing at me with lost eyes that seem to be every colour at once. It's too much.

"Hello," I manage, my voice crumpled and weak. Sam blinks, and when he speaks he sounds much the same, like he's struggling not to cry.

"Hi, Mom." He swallows heavily, eyes moving over my face. "How are you here?"

I shrug and nod towards Dean. "He told me I was brought back by God's sister. Still not sure if I believe him."

Sam turns to Dean, eyes popping. "Amara did this? But… the soul bomb, the sun… how did you fix it?"

"I didn't," Dean says quietly, happiness shining from his eyes. I didn't realise how tense he was until now, but having his brother back seems to have knocked years off of him. "I'll tell you all about it soon, OK? Right now we need to get outta here."

Sam nods slowly. He looks back at me, his expression strangely haunted, which I suppose makes sense. I'm a ghost to him. I'm a ghost to both of them. Should I really be here?

"Cas?" Dean's worried voice pulls me from my morbid thoughts and I frown in concern as I watch him clutch at the angel's shoulder. Castiel doesn't look great, face drawn and eyes tense. He nods as Dean asks him if he's alright, face grim.

"I'm better than I was, but I'm still a poor imitation of a fully powered angel," he says ruefully, starting to drag himself to his feet. Dean leaps up and pulls Cas after him, his movements anxious but gentle. The angel huffs as he leans on Dean for a moment before straightening. I stare up at him. I didn't know he was ill. Can angels get ill? Maybe he's injured, in some mysterious celestial way. Dean reaches down to help Sam up too. I scramble to my feet and place a pointless hand underneath Castiel's elbow, wanting to show gratitude for his help more than anything else. He smiles wearily at me.

I watch Dean hoist Sam up, watch the younger man grumbling a little but smiling and rolling his eyes at Dean's fussing. They're so familiar together, like two halves of a whole. My eyebrows raise as Sam stretches to his full height. He's so tall. Dean catches my look and grins cheekily.

"I know, right? Sammy here is a total sasquatch."

"Shut up, man," Sam mutters, shooting me a self-conscious look. It's endearing and I feel a rush of warmth for him. I smile up at him and he smiles back, looking sweet and unsure.

"You turned out so handsome," I murmur shyly, feeling like an idiot. Sam flushes and looks down at his feet. Beside him, Dean snorts.

"Yeah, he got all the looks for sure."

I open my mouth to protest, because honestly, both my sons look like they could have been models or actors, they're so good-looking. Castiel beats me to it, frowning, shoulders still stiff as though he's cold or pained.

"You're very handsome too, Dean."

I snap my mouth shut, amused at Dean's outraged look and glowing cheeks.

"Dude, what the hell?" he hisses, shoving a little at a bewildered Cas to get him moving. "Come on, move out, we need to get going…"

I try to suppress my laughter and as Sam catches my eye, I see that he's noticed. He jerks his head towards Dean and Castiel and rolls his eyes, lips pressed around a smirk. I raise my eyebrows as I turn away, taken aback to find that I'm not the only one who's noticed the odd dynamic between my elder son and the angel. Well, of course, Sam knows them both far better than me. For the first time, I wonder if I was a bit too relaxed when it occurred to me that Dean might be in love with a man, or a male angel as it turns out. It just seemed of little consequence compared to everything else going on. But seeing it acknowledged by Sam, it seems like it should feel more wrong than it does. Surely it must be wrong. But then, I mentally shrug to myself, so is returning from the dead.

I'm pulled from my musings by Dean's voice where he's paused in the doorway, staring down grimly at the mystery blonde woman's body.

"Guess we're taking this one back to the bunker for questioning. Spot of revenge might be in order too."

No one argues. Castiel concentrates and does something to the camera system so we can't be seen; messing with electronics seems to affect him far less than fighting, healing and forcing through warding. He easily lifts the blonde again and takes her out to the car, hurrying across the parking lot in the dim light of dusk. I wonder what the plan is for if someone spots us and tries to stop us. It doesn't matter. No one does.

Sam hovers close to me, our eyes catching now and then. It's so strange to look at him and see the hopeful longing in his eyes. At least with Dean I can convince myself that I see similarities with the child I lost. With Sam, it's blank. I feel love because I know that he's my son, because I can intellectually understand the link between this man and my beloved baby. But he's a total stranger to me.

Once Dean's secured the blonde in the trunk, we all pile into the car. I blink in surprise as Castiel slides into the back next to me without any hesitation. Sam takes shotgun without seeming to think about it. I realise that Cas riding shotgun was as temporary and unusual as him driving the Impala and it saddens me, somehow. I watch Dean and Sam in the front, smiling tiredly at each other, and I ache with how external I feel. Glancing sideways, I can see that Castiel is peering out the window. As I watch, he glances at Dean, his expression caught between fond and forlorn. I think about how we're both outsiders from within this odd little family, about how I know and understand and like Castiel better than my own baby boy, and I want to break down crying.

I tell myself that this will get better, and I stare out the window too.


End file.
